What Should Never Be
by otherhawk
Summary: AU of 'The More Things Change' verse. Worst nightmares and the way things didn't happen


**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with O11**

**A/N: Apologies. Also, this was written an exceedingly long time ago in response to InSilva. It was, in fact, the very first of what I like to call the "Well, things could always be worse" AUs. And I never really got round to posting. But InSilva told me to post it on Friday and I didn't because I didn't have a title. *shrug* So here it is. **

**A/N2: mtc verse, obviously. First section is set about O11 time. Rest, Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen. **

* * *

Going to prison had never been in Linus' life plan and he was a little bit terrified. It wasn't like he had never considered what the penalties for his chosen career were; he'd just been sure that it could never happen to him. He'd been so sure that he was made for better things, but when he finally got fed-up of lifting wallets he'd signed on – against his parent's advice – as part of a long con crew. And they'd got caught the first time out. And the others had all sworn blind that the whole thing had been his idea. And he'd got eighteen months and now he was walking through metal corridors, the sound of taunts and catcalls in his ears, and, yeah. Terrified.

Meekly he stood waiting as the guard paused outside the end cell and said loudly "I'm afraid you've got a cellmate. We're overcrowded right now. Don't worry, should only be temporary."

"That's fine," Linus assured him eagerly. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad.

The guard turned and frowned at him. "I wasn't talking to you."

"Oh." He shut his mouth.

With a strange look the guard turned back and yelled into the cell. "Hey, you listening to me?"

This time a distracted voice called back. "Uh huh. Room mate. Got you."

The guard grinned. "How'd your parole hearing go anyway?" He sounded genuinely interested and just a little bit hopeful.

"Rejected." The voice sounded flat.

The guard sighed and seemed unsurprised.

Linus craned his head, trying to see into the cell and catch a glimpse of the man he was going to be spending a lot of time with. But all he could see were shadows. After barely a second's pause the voice continued, blithe and upbeat. "How's Lucy? And the boy? He heard back from Columbia yet?"

The guard smiled and leaned back against the railing. "Lucy's fine, all wrapped up in her new book group. Getting so a man can't watch the game on his own sofa without putting his arm on the latest Harry Potter. And no word from Columbia, but Jimmy got a hundred percent on his last physics test. Don't know where he gets it from. Not his old man, that's for sure."

"But you're proud of him anyway," the voice stated.

"You bet," the guard agreed. "Anyway, I'd better get back to work. Try not to break this one, huh?"

He turned and with a curt nod to Linus, left. Not feeling especially assured, Linus made his way into the cell. As far as he could see it was empty. Of people at any rate; there was a set of metal bunk beds, a chemical toilet, a battered desk and a couple of spindly chairs, and the walls were liberally sprinkled with pictures and graffiti.

"Uh, hello?" he began cautiously. A shadow – and he would have sworn that it was just an unmoving shadow - swung out of the lower bunk and he involuntarily took a step back. The man who stood looking at him was quite a bit older than him; his dark hair was shot through with grey. Linus swallowed nervously. "Hi, um, my name's Linus, and I guess I'm your new cellmate."

The man continued to watch him thoughtfully. "Figured that. What are you in for?"

"Fraud and obtaining money through false pretences." Linus answered automatically.

"Con man?" the man asked with a hint of a smile.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"First time inside?" the man continued, amusement in his voice.

Linus swallowed. "Uh huh." First and last, he promised himself.

"Well, you stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours." With that he gracefully lowered himself back onto the bunk.

And that seemed to be that. Without much else to do, Linus wandered idly round the small cell. There wasn't much to it. Most of the pictures were strictly impersonal. Picture postcards. He noticed the Vegas skyline and a golden sanded beach. There was only one that had people in it; an old, much creased strip of photos from a photo booth. It showed two laughing children, squeezed together on the narrow seat, grinning at each other as if they were sharing some great joke. Curious he peered closer and realised that the older, dark haired one looked a lot like his cellmate. He wondered at first if it was his son, then realised that by the age of the picture it was probably the man himself.

"Leave that alone!" The voice from the bed was sharp.

He stepped back and raised his hands up. "Okay, okay. Jeez, wasn't like I was doing anything."

"Keep it that way," he was advised.

"Hang on a minute," he protested, surprising himself with his courage. "What's _your_ name? What are _you_ in for?"

Teeth gleamed in the shadows. "My name's Danny Ocean. And I'm here because I killed a man. It took a while."

* * *

Linus had now spent nearly a month peeling potatoes every day and he was completely sick of it. Kitchen duty was supposed to be one of the better assignments but it was hot and noisy and unpleasant and he was pretty sure that the calluses he was developing on his hands would never go away. He sighed; so far prison was about what he'd been expecting. Not nearly as bad as his worst nightmares, but still generally awful.

"Caldwell! Pssst. Caldwell." He got the impression that someone was trying to attract his attention. Turning round he saw a little weaselly looking man staring at him.

"What do you want?" he asked quietly.

"You're Danny Ocean's new cellmate, right? Can you get him to give me my cigarettes?"

Linus hesitated, with no real idea what the guy was talking about.

The weaselly man apparently misunderstood. "Oh, come on, you can trust me. Tell him I'll get him his money real soon."

"Get out of here, Charlie." Kent walked up unnoticed and Charlie ran off to the ovens, complaining bitterly. "Linus. You gotta learn to say no."

Linus shrugged. "He was talking about something to do with Danny. I didn't really understand."

"Danny's good at getting things." Kent – who might or might not have had a first name but who certainly had refused to share it with Linus – said. "Charlie's not so good at paying. Guess he thought you had influence."

"Yeah, right." Linus rolled his eyes and stabbed a potato. "Danny never says more than two words to me."

"He's going through a tough time at the moment," Kent said casually. "His parole was rejected and that means that he's facing another psych assessment. He hates those."

Linus frowned. "You have to talk to a psychiatrist if your parole's refused?" he asked incredulously.

"No, just Danny. It's complicated." He sighed. "Look, I'm just telling you this because you're his roommate. I shared a cell with him on my last stretch, five years ago. Things can get a little bad for him, that's all." Yeah, like Linus cared. Kent saw, and apparently correctly interpreted his look and sighed again. "He's a good guy, when he's not stuck in the past."

Linus found that hard to believe, and was about to say so, when there was a sudden explosive bang and he looked over to see that once again half the kitchen was covered in flour. He winced as the guards converged on the man left standing in the middle of it. "You are in deep shit," the closest one snarled.

The man shook his head, in a cloud of white powder. "Bollocks, I am. Why can't you prats learn not to . . . " He was hauled away, still swearing.

With a slow shake of his head Linus turned back to Kent. "So what am I watching for?"

* * *

It was two nights before he was woken up the sound of sobbing from below him. For a long while he lay still, keeping his breathing even, pretending to be asleep, desperate not to be involved. But to be honest, there was a limit to how long he could keep that up. Listening to someone else in pain was very much not his thing.

"Danny?" he whispered loudly. "Danny, are you awake?"

There was no answer. At least no answer that he understood. Instead there was the sound of muffled thrashing and something – an arm? A leg? A head? – thudding against the wall again and again.

Alarmed Linus immediately sprang out of bed and reached out and put his hand Danny's shoulder. "Danny. You with me?"

Immediately Danny stilled, and his hand grasped Linus', and Linus was somehow aware of being stared at in the darkness. "Rusty?" The word was whispered – breathless and incredulous - and clearly Danny was still mostly asleep.

"Uh, no. It's Linus, Danny," he answered carefully, deeply uncomfortable. "Remember? I think you were having a nightmare."

"Right. Sorry." The hand was hastily withdrawn and Danny pulled away from him. "Did I wake you?"

"No. Well, yes. Well, I don't mind." He hesitated. "Do you . . . do you want to talk about it?"

"It's nothing. Just old stuff." Danny sighed, sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Stupid shrink."

Linus blinked. "Uh . . . ?"

"You know how to get paroled, Linus?" Danny asked, with the air of one revealing a huge secret. Linus shook his head mutely. Danny ignored him and carried on talking, faster and faster. "You need to be sorry. And if you're not, and if you'll never even try to pretend that the bastard didn't deserve everything he got – _everything_, do you understand? Everything and a whole lot more – then they send you to a psychiatrist who talks about everything that you try to forget until he finally decides that apparently you're sane after all. Perfectly normal."

And Linus was very good at reading people's voices, and he could hear the quiet disbelief in Danny's. "You don't think you're sane?" he asked involuntarily.

Danny glanced sharply at him and seemed about to tell him to mind his own business when he suddenly sighed and buried his head in his hands. "You had friends in high school, right?" he asked, voice muffled.

Linus nodded. "Yes. Well, some."

"And do you keep in touch with them?" Danny went on.

He thought for a moment. "Some of them. Occasionally. Not for the last year or so."

"Right. That's normal, right? That's even what he said. That we'd grow apart. I just couldn't imagine it." There was desperation in his voice. Soft and hopeless and so very, very lonely. "But it's been twenty five years. Shouldn't I be over it by now?"

Linus swallowed hard and decided to take a risk. "Rusty?"

Danny looked up quickly. "How did you - ?" he began angrily.

" – You called me that when you woke up." Linus explained quickly.

"Huh." Danny seemed to consider this. "You don't even look like him."

Briefly Linus considered offering a platitude about the power of the unconscious mind, but it didn't seem appropriate. "Do you want to talk about it?" he suggested instead, again.

Danny grinned. "Do you want the short version?" he said and started in a sing song voice. "There was a boy and I loved him very much."

"You _loved _him?" Linus squeaked.

"Not like that." Danny waved his hand dismissively. "It was never like that. Don't worry - your virtue is safe with me. I like women." He paused. "Haven't been with one for twenty five years, but I still know what I like."

Linus was lost. "Then what?"

Danny grew quiet. "He was my family," he said at last. "He was my everything. And he died."

* * *

Danny sat on the edge of the fountain for nearly an hour before he admitted to himself that Rusty wasn't coming. And even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't pretend that it was anything other than it was; they'd had plans. Definite plans. Birthday plans. He fingered the tickets in his pocket and sighed. Someday life was going to get better. For both of them. In the meantime there would be cake at Mabel's, and popcorn at the movies and as long as they were together that was good enough.

He walked briskly round to Rusty's place, keeping a careful eye out all the way, hoping that they'd bump into each other on the way. That had happened before. If the damage wasn't too bad. He imagined helping Rusty round to Mabel's, and they'd borrow her first aid kit again, and he'd fix Rusty up while Mabel served them coffee and milkshake and talked about her day and asked them about their plans and life would get back on track. But he didn't see Rusty. And when he got to the front door there was no answer when he knocked.

That had never happened before.

He knocked again, louder and there was still no answer. Staring at the dented wood, he chewed on his lip for a minute, trying to decide what to do. Rusty must have gone out. He must have headed out to meet Danny, and maybe because he'd known he was so late – or just because he was feeling lazy – he'd jumped on the bus. That was it. Had to be.

And yet his hand travelled to his pocket and he found himself picking at the flimsy lock with a paperclip and shaking hands.

The door opened easily enough and Danny stepped into the grubby apartment, keeping his fingers crossed that Rusty's dad wouldn't be there. Because explanations would be both difficult and dangerous. "Rusty?" he called quietly. There was no answer. "You here?"

His eyes slid over the old bloodstain on the floor. ("_He busted my nose. I kind of had it coming though. I said the Giants suck."_ "_The Giants _do_ suck.") _The apartment felt still, and Danny breathed a sigh of relief. There was no-one here. He was sure of it. It wasn't something he could really explain, but places _felt_ different when someone was there.

He was just turning to leave when he heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Tap left on. With a shrug he went to go and turn it off. And that was when he saw the familiar looking sneaker jammed in the bathroom door.

Just for a second he thought, amused, about Rusty being untidy and then his mind caught up with his eyes and he realised that there was a foot in the sneaker and his heart stopped. Fuck. Oh, fuck, this was serious trouble and even as he acted he found himself stupidly wondering why it was always family days when they ended up at the hospital? First Christmas that time, then Thanksgiving last year and now this . . .

"Rusty!" He pushed against the door, but it wouldn't open. Rusty must be lying in front of it. "Not helpful, Rus'," he muttered and swallowed hard. "Listen," he called, just on the off-chance that Rusty was awake enough to hear him. "I need to get this door open okay? It's going to hurt you. I'm sorry."

Carefully he pushed Rusty's foot to the other side of the door. Should do less damage that way. It was harder than he would have expected, as if there was something wrong with Rusty's leg. He tried to peer through the crack into the bathroom but all he got was a vague impression of Rusty lying in front of the door. Really not helpful.

With a wince he shoved the door, hard and steadily and felt the resistance give gradually. As soon as the door was open enough, he squeezed through.

Rusty was lying on the floor, his eyes shut, his face far too pale. There was blood and bruises. More than usual. His shirt was pulled up and his hand was holding a soaked towel to his side.

Danny knelt beside him, his heart hammering in his chest. "I'm here now," he said quietly and tried to move the towel out of the way. Rusty didn't seem to want to let go of it. "That's okay, but I need to take a look." With an effort he managed to move it aside and saw the deep black skin underneath. More than just bruising and the sickness rose in him.

He brushed Rusty's hair away from his face. The skin beneath was cool. "He's really fucked you up this time. I need to go and get help," he explained, apologetically because even if he rarely said anything, Rusty hated it when he left. "I'll be back soon, okay?"

Not waiting for an answer he ran out of the apartment and hammered on the next door. It took an age before Mrs. Garcia answered, her eyes peering out over the security chain and he remembered the way she always looked at Rusty so sadly, and he wondered what she'd heard this time. What she'd heard and done nothing about. "I need you to call an ambulance." She stared at him uncomprehendingly. He cursed and tried to remember. "Ambulancia! Rapidamente!"

Her eyes widened. "The bambino . . . "

"It's serious." He stared at her until he was sure that she understood, and that she was going to do it, and then he ran back inside and put his arms around Rusty. Because he was so cold and Danny needed to warm him up. And he knew that he shouldn't move Rusty, but he could lie beside him and he could hold him in his arms and he could rest his head against Rusty's cheek and try not to see the dried blood that had pooled in his ear.

"The ambulance is going to be here soon," he whispered. He ran a hand through Rusty's hair again. It came away sticky with cold blood. "I'm here. Everything's going to be all right," he promised and he waited for Rusty to open his eyes and call him a liar. But he didn't. "I'm with you. Everything's going to be fine."

* * *

The ambulance took a long time to arrive. At least it seemed that way. Danny would never know how much time had really passed. He was aware of the tears streaming down his cheeks, as he told Rusty about the tickets and the hotel reservation. Because he'd been working on it for months and he was sure that Rusty didn't have a clue. The perfect birthday surprise and Danny couldn't wait to see Rusty's face when he caught his first glimpse of the ocean. It was going to be amazing.

He didn't hear the two men entering the apartment. Which was funny, as they were weighed down with equipment, but he didn't realise they were there until they tore him roughly away from Rusty.

"No!" he yelled. "He needs me."

"Stay back, kid," one of them snapped distractedly. "Let us do our job."

He stood in the doorway, so that Rusty would be able to see him immediately if he only opened his eyes, and watched as they searched for a pulse, and as they looked at each other and shook their heads. "Call the cops," one of them muttered, and the other one nodded and pulled out his radio.

The first one stood and walked over to Danny. "Come and sit down, kid."

"You need to help him." Danny insisted.

The man closed his eyes briefly. "I wish I could, kid. I'm so sorry."

Danny shook his head frantically. "It's his birthday," he explained, as if that would make some sort of difference. "Please. He's only fourteen."

"Kid . . . " the man reached out and put his hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. He's gone. Has been for hours. There's nothing anyone could have done."

He looked, over the man's shoulder, to the bathroom where Rusty was still lying, cold and still and for the first time he could see that everything that made Rusty shine had gone. There was nothing left. Danny was alone.

With an effort he shrugged the man's hand off his shoulder and ran.

* * *

Danny stood outside the diner for a long moment and imagined the consequences of going in. Mabel would smile at him, same as always. She'd ask where the birthday boy was. Then she'd see the blood that he hadn't been able to wash off. (_That he hadn't tried to wash off._) No. Danny couldn't bring himself to do that to her. He walked away and found another diner, where they didn't know his name and were perfectly happy to believe him when he smiled and said that he'd had a slight accident and he sat behind a cup of coffee and didn't cry.

Rusty was gone. Dead. And that wasn't right. Danny didn't understand, not really. Because they'd been together yesterday. Rusty had been excited about seeing 'The Blues Brothers' today. They'd taken those ugly vases round to Leo and got a good price. They'd made their usual jokes about drinking and the wrath of Bobby, and watched Leo pale. They'd eaten cheeseburgers, and Danny had talked about Patricia and teased Rusty about the very real possibility that Alice Munroe had started a fan club. Less than twenty four hours ago. That had been real. This was just a nightmare that he'd really like to wake up from, right now, if it wasn't too much trouble?

And every time the bell above the door jangled and someone stepped in to the diner, he found himself looking up and _hoping_. And every time it killed him.

He should have been there. He should have known. He should have told Rusty to come back to his tonight, whatever his mom was saying. He should have insisted long ago that Rusty tell everyone the truth. He should have been able to make people listen. He should have saved him. _He should have_ . . .

If he closed his eyes really tightly he could pretend that Rusty was sitting opposite him, picking at a piece of pie, silently complaining that it wasn't as good as Mabel's. And all he had to do was open his eyes and smile, and Rusty would smile back and the world would go on turning.

He didn't open his eyes for a very long time. But it still didn't work.

He wondered if Rusty had been scared. It was all too easy to imagine him, hurt, bleeding, broken and _dying_, crawling to the bathroom as he had done so often before. He could picture him, hauling the towel off the floor, soaking it in cold water. Good for bruises - and a thousand times he'd promised Danny he'd take care of himself - and it would do _fuck all_ for internal bleeding. Had he realised? Had he known? God, had he lain there, on the uneven tiles, knowing he was dying and hoping against hope that Danny would come for him one last time?

Unexpectedly a sob wracked his body. Rusty was dead. His soul had been ripped in two and life was never, _never_ going to get better.

It was all over and there was only one thing to do.

* * *

Danny smoked two packets of cigarettes while leaning against the fireplace of the abandoned house, waiting for Rusty's dad to wake up. It was possible that he'd hit him a little too hard. But he hadn't wanted him to wake up while he was being dragged to the car. Or, for that matter while he was being dragged back out of the car.

The man had been surprisingly easy to track down. Obviously no-one had managed to tell him that he'd killed his son yet. And after that, all Danny had to do was wait until he staggered out of the bar and into the alley and step up behind him with the bat he'd borrowed from Mike. (He'd promised to return it, and he was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen. If he ever got a chance, he'd have to apologise.)

Ambush in a dark alley with a baseball bat. He wished he'd done it years before.

Of course, people had seen him lugging the man to the car he'd borrowed from the parking lot. But a quick smile and a plaintive murmur of 'Mom wants him home,' and he'd got a couple of volunteers to help him carry the bastard. Which was almost amusing. Almost.

Dragging him up to the house and tying him to the chair had, unfortunately, by its very nature had to be a solo effort. The moans that he'd heard had him hoping that he wouldn't have to wait too long. But no, two packets of cigarettes. Far more than he'd normally smoke. Though it didn't matter much anymore.

At last he saw the man's eyes open blearily, and for a long moment he watched him look round before he fixed to stare at Danny with an expression of shock and anger. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Danny smiled. "Do you know who I am?" he asked. It wasn't a rhetorical question. They'd met on several occasions, but for once he didn't count on being memorable. Not to this man.

The man nodded and winced. "My bastard son's friend. What's the little shit done now? Did he put you up to this? Where is he?"

"He's dead." Danny said levelly, turning to face the fireplace, his eyes fixed on the bottle of vodka on the mantle piece. He had no wish to see the man's reaction. After a moment filled with muffled swearing and harsh breathing, he turned back. "You killed him."

"I never meant to." the man began almost indignantly.

"But you did." Danny said quietly. "You killed him." He walked over slowly and stood looking down at the man bound to the flimsy chair. There was a possibility that he'd be able to get out. And if he did, then in all probability he'd kill Danny too. There was a small part of Danny that was hoping. "You killed him," he repeated.

"It was an accident," the man said after a minute, and his eyes were pleading.

"It wasn't." Danny told him. "You were trying to hurt him."

The man's lip curled. "He's a useless little sissy. Soft and insolent. I need to toughen him up. Show him right from wrong."

Danny nodded thoughtfully. Then he picked up the bat from where he'd let it fall and swung as hard as he could. The sound of bone shattering echoed unpleasantly in his ears but he tried not to let it bother him.

He stood watching until the screaming had died down, and the man had managed to open his eyes again, and uncurl his fingers at least a little.

"I knew him since he was seven." Danny explained. "Half his life – did you know that it was his birthday today? And I can count the number of times I've seen him cry on the fingers of one hand. He was far tougher than you could ever be."

"You broke my kneecap." The voice was hoarse and not in the least bit arrogant.

"Uh huh." Danny agreed. "I did. You'll never walk without a limp again." He smiled. Let the man have his hope.

"You can't do that." His voice trembled a little. Danny almost laughed.

"I _can_ do that," he corrected gently. "Just like you did. This is what you like, isn't it? Hitting people who can't hit back." He walked round the chair and swung again and again and again, punctuating his soft words, ignoring the screams. "He was always there for me and I never managed to repay him. All I could ever do was clean up your messes. Wash away the blood. Ice the bruises." With a flick of his wrist he aimed for the kidneys. Kidneys hurt the worst, Rusty had always told him. "I remember when his mom left. He was nine years old. Nine! We spent nearly two days camped out on my sofa. Well we had to. You didn't exactly leave him able to move, did you? I brought him hot chocolate and read to him. 'Matilda.' He liked that one, did you know that?"

The man might have tried to say something. Blood bubbled out of his mouth. Revolted, Danny dropped the baseball bat and crouched down in front of him.

"I need you to listen carefully now. Because this is important. I want you to understand what you've done. Do you think you can do that?" The man nodded fervently. "I loved him. Do you understand that? He was my best friend and my family and all that I ever wanted and _I loved him_." The man stared at him and Danny smiled bitterly. "No, I don't suppose that's something you could ever hope to understand. But Rusty – your son – was the most amazing person I ever knew. He had nothing and he still thought that life was wonderful. He shone with it. It was in his every word, his every movement. And when he smiled . . . " Danny shook his head and blinked back his tears. The man looked at him, confused and scornful through the blood, and Danny spoke quickly. "There was nothing that he couldn't do, and you tore him down. You destroyed him."

He straightened up and marched over to the fireplace again, taking a long moment to try and get his breathing under control. Then he reached out, grabbed the vodka bottle and smashed it against the mantle piece. When he turned round again, broken bottle stretched out in front of him like the weapon it was, for the first time he saw a family resemblance between the man and Rusty. Because the look of fear in his eyes was very familiar, and it hurt.

The man spat out a mouthful of blood. "Come on. Be reasonable. You don't really want to do this. I swear, I won't tell the cops what you did."

No. He wouldn't. Without a word, Danny laid the edge of the bottle against the man's neck. "I loved him," he explained quietly. Then he pushed the glass in deep and twisted and forced himself to listen to the wet, gurgling sound until it finally stopped.

Afterwards he sat and watched the blood cool and waited for them to find him.

* * *

The sun had almost risen. Linus was glad of it; a little light could only be a good thing.

"But you had cause," he said stupidly, when Danny had finally stopped talking. "After what he did . . . "

Danny shrugged, seeming uncomfortable now it was done. "It was only my word for what he did. And apparently even that didn't justify the 'brutal nature of my crime.'"

Linus frowned desperately. "But the parole board . . . couldn't you lie? Tell them you're sorry."

Danny smiled and shook his head. "I'll lie about anything else. But not that. It's too important. And I'm not sorry."

He tried again. Somehow, in some way, he wanted a solution. "Do you honestly think that Rusty would want this for you? You've thrown your life away."

"He'd be furious." Danny agreed readily. "But he died and I never found anything else. Nothing else that mattered.

_You didn't look_, Linus wanted to scream. But he recognised futility when he saw it. "Then you're going to spend the rest of your life in here," he pointed out dully.

Danny nodded cheerfully. "I'll die in here," he agreed, and even Linus could hear the unspoken addition "_And I won't be sorry_."

And he felt like crying at the waste of it all.


End file.
